


Sleep Well, My Angel

by sanguine_throne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I'm so sorry, M/M, from We Are the Fallen, no romance just feels, oh my god the tears, season nein, songfic: Sleep Well My Angel, very sad and somber idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguine_throne/pseuds/sanguine_throne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas did not leave the bunker for long. He was both too stubborn and too weak to do so.</p><p>Coda to S9E3, and I apologise in advance for the emotional assault</p><p>Songfic! please do check We Are the Fallen out, it's worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Well, My Angel

Cas did not leave for long. He skulked around the darker corners of the bunker, desperately keeping himself concealed as Dean and Sam made their final patrol of the base for the night. He had torn himself apart in the past few hours, unable to keep the flood of foreign and gut-churning emotions at bay.

You can’t stay

Of course he couldn’t stay. He was human. A human who had a militia of fallen angels on his heels. He was a liability, and nothing more. Cas cursed his weakness. He was human, but if all he could do was hurt and endanger those whom he loved, he was really no more than a monster that deserved hunting.

Why was he still here? What had compelled him to sneak back into the bunker after being given explicit instructions to go? Cas was so unused to this sense of need. It consumed him. It would, naturally; when he had nothing left, the cruel wanting for… belonging… consumed him.

It was likely safe to leave the dim alcove where he crouched. His posture reminded him darkly of how he had lurked in damp alleyways during his journey to the bunker. He had genuinely never expected to be left just as vulnerable when he had arrived.

It seemed his life as a human was just one searing betrayal after another.

Cas slowly rose out of the darkness. He looked down at his hands, rough and calloused after even after a few short days of toil. He loathed the roughness as he ran his fingertips over the flesh of his arms. It was coarse, violent, and Dean. He wanted to be with Dean. Hadn’t the whole point of these past days been to reunite them? Cas found that he was out of breath, having wasted his staggered breaths on weeping silently. He ghosted through the corridors of the bunker, trailing his offending hands along the walls. This labyrinth had housed many monsters in its time, what was one more? Cas allowed himself to become lost in the winding passageways of the concrete structure, still holding on to the wall, as if he might be expelled from the site simply through the rejection that he faced here. The chilling hands of abandonment wrapped slowly around him, as if caressing him. 

Without realising, Cas found himself in front of a doorway. This one was closed. 

Cas could not place the feeling that crawled through him, leaving burns along his consciousness. It was really more of an instinct, older than any emotion could dream to be. Deciding to go along with it, Cas tried the door. His breath stopped, choked out, as it opened, squealing lightly. There was no light to show him what lay within, but he could hear steady breathing as he stepped timidly in. He nearly tripped over a chair that was placed inconveniently in the centre of the room. Upon inspection, he noticed that the chair was arranged to face the source of the breathing. Cas failed once again to breathe as he realised he had carried himself right into Dean’s quarters. 

Cas forced himself to move, to breathe, anything. His muscles felt stiff and cumbersome as he stepped closer to the sleeping figure before him. He reached out to touch Dean, possibly to grip his hand, but his arm stiffened with apprehension. What if he awoke Dean? What if his foolish, childish need to see the man caused him to be found out, cast out? Suddenly quite tired, Cas took a seat in the chair, a plain wooden stool, really. He faced Dean, feeling stupidly afraid.

If Cas was a monster, Dean was an angel.

“I’m sorry.”

Cas rose silently, and left.


End file.
